


Under the Covers

by sabrina_il (marina)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 11:03:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marina/pseuds/sabrina_il
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I bet you think about hockey when you jerk off."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Covers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefourthvine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefourthvine/gifts).



_I bet you think about hockey when you jerk off_. Sid doesn't remember where he heard that line, maybe it was some blogger somewhere, maybe a rival player half-whispered it (as much as whispering is possible in an arena full of screaming fans) into his ear at one point - anything to get him riled up but Sid will never give them the satisfaction - but it stuck with him, for some reason. Out of all the taunts and chants and bullshit questions from the media that line is the one Sid can't get out of his head. 

Because it's true, is the thing. He does think about hockey. Lying on his hotel room bed, some random gameshow on TV, half nodding asleep because he's gotta be up before sunrise tomorrow for a big game, and Sid sneaks a hand down into his shorts, underneath the blankets, and jerks off thinking about the number 71, yellow against a black jersey, about Geno's hands when they grip the stick, his legs slightly bent, tongue barely visible, slicking over his lips. Geno in the rare moments when he's still, waiting for the puck to drop, every muscle tense and ready to spring into action. Sid glances over at him occasionally, at the start of the game, right before everything happens, right before the adrenaline that courses through Sid's veins for hours before the game gets put to proper use. He looks over at Geno and he loves him - no, no, he wants him, like he's never wanted anything in his life. He wants to tear his shirt off, discard all his protective gear, make him tumble down to the ice and feel him, run his hands over that pale skin, those strong muscles. He wants to see the passion, the anticipation in Geno's eyes and know it burns for him, all for him. No one's ever looked at Sid the way Geno looks right before the game starts - all that hunger and vicious determination written on his face.

Sid palms his cock, closes his eyes, strokes back and forth, biting his lip. The Geno in his fantasy looks a little shocked, a little surprised when Sid jumps on him, right there in front of everyone, in front of their coaches and teammates and spectators, but then he goes with it, gives up, lets Sid do his thing, moaning when Sid kisses him, sitting astride him right there on the ice, rubbing against each other. 

Sid moans, quietly, and comes, sticky warmth spreading across his fingers and the inside of his shorts. He'll have to go and change, but first he wants to lie here for a few more moments. Catch his breath, let the fantasy linger a bit longer. It would be more efficient to do this in the bathroom, of course, but Sid only ever likes it like this. Warm and sleepy, alone in a huge, soft bed, wrapped up in blankets. The images come easier like this, like his brain can't put up much of a fight in that state. Sidney sighs to himself and doesn't think about what it all means, how it actually relates to reality, what he can and can't do about all these desires. It's too complicated, and he has to go to sleep, and another game waits for him tomorrow.


End file.
